Chapter 91 - 88: The Nether River From the Heavens
The maiden walked to the door.
"Who is it?" the silver-haired maiden’s voice was exceedingly soft, like a wife who had long awaited her husband’s return.
"Open up, Third Prince. It’s me."
The voice outside belonged to Lu Changyuan—it was unmistakably his, right down to the same "I-don’t-care-if-the-world-floods" tone.
A flicker of doubt crossed Su Youwan’s red eyes. ’Lu Changyuan left less than an hour ago. How is he back already?’
Her fingers paused for a moment, but she still slid the bolt open. The door hinges turned with a faint creak.
Standing at the door was a youth in a profound robe. His handsome features were enough to make any young maiden’s heart flutter, and he was currently smiling with gentle warmth.
"Third Prince, why are you looking at me like that?"
It was Lu Changyuan.
Su Youwan lowered her gaze, her voice ethereal and devoid of emotion. "Young Master Lu, why have you returned so soon?"
"So the Third Prince also likes to answer a question with a question. I’ve been gone for a long time. It was time to come back," Lu Changyuan said gently.
"Is that so?" Su Youwan looked up, her gaze sweeping over him as if by chance. "It didn’t feel that long to me."
Lu Changyuan nodded lightly and didn’t argue.
Su Youwan stepped aside to let him pass, her expression as calm as still water. "Come in."
The maiden seemed to believe his words without a shadow of a doubt.
Lu Changyuan stepped smoothly into the room, his stride unhurried. As he walked, he said, "The Ghost Sect is about to open, Third Prince. The Spirits of the Netherworld will pour out."
"Yes, I’ve read about it in the ancient texts," Su Youwan agreed softly, her tone indifferent, carrying an unusual sense of detachment.
SHIING!
The moment her words fell, the sound of something sharp tearing through the air suddenly erupted!
Along with that piercing sound, sixteen streaks of silver light, like meteors chasing the moon, shot out from Su Youwan’s sleeves and embedded themselves in Lu Changyuan’s body with perfect accuracy.
The Silver Needles were as fine as ox-hair, yet they carried the force of a thousand tons, pinning him firmly in place.
Lu Changyuan’s body stiffened, but a long, slender bone blade had somehow appeared in his hand. The edge was ghastly white and radiated an aura of death.
He struggled to turn his head, his neck emitting a cringe-inducing CRACKLE. The skin on his face, like a water-soaked painting, rapidly faded and peeled away. His flesh dissolved into a foul, sticky liquid that dripped to the floor. In the blink of an eye, all that remained was a ghastly white skeleton.
"How... did you know?"
Su Youwan’s expression remained unchanged as her fair fingers flicked again. Unseen threads crisscrossed in the air, and an invisible net instantly tightened, completely ensnaring the skeleton.
A continuous series of sharp CRACKS echoed as the skeleton was instantly reduced to a pile of uniformly-sized bone fragments.
Only then did the maiden speak coolly.
"Your scent. His smells much better," she said, frowning slightly. "Besides, Young Master Lu isn’t so polite. He wouldn’t knock before entering his own home."
The silver-haired maiden pulled at the nearly transparent threads with her fingertips, stringing the bone fragments together. Then, she pushed the door open and tossed the fragments into the thick, inescapable fog outside.
’Can’t have this kind of trash in my own home.’
On the endless street, the fog writhed like a living creature, devouring light and sound.
Su Youwan’s head snapped up.
THUMP, THUMP.
’Horns?’
’Drums?’
A jarring music, its instruments indistinguishable, suddenly rang out from within the fog.
A cold, sinister wind blew without warning, swirling the fog.
The Netherworld is a city hidden between life and death. As such, everything here is an illusion; the houses have no color, and the Spirits have no physical form.
But when this wind swept past,
everything changed.
It was as if an enormous, invisible brush, dipped in rich colors, was painting this illusory world into existence.
And so, little by little, inch by inch, the contours of the house on the street corner, which had always been a mere phantom, began to sharpen.
Its green bricks and black tiles, its mottled and ancient wooden door—all of it was being pulled from the void, gradually becoming real.
The Ghost Sect opens, and the past of the Netherworld returns with it. The dead Spirits seem to regain their living faces, and the withered city breaks free from the boundary of life and death, rising once more in the Mortal World.
The music grew closer, its beat hammering against the heart, making it hard to breathe.
Within the thick, milk-white fog, rustling figures began to emerge.
Shrill, ghostly cries carried on the music from afar.
Leading the procession was the Fourth Realm Cultivator who had died long ago. His eyes were vacant and lifeless, and enormous bone wings were spread from his back, each flap creating a mournful, piercing shriek.
The winged man cleared the way.
Following him was a column of black Spirits clad in tattered armor. They marched in neat ranks, their steps silent yet heavy, their frigid killing intent almost tangible.
At the very end of this bizarre procession was a sedan chair, carried by eight black Spirits. As it swayed, the figure within flickered in and out of view.
It was a skeleton, golden from head to toe, with heart-stopping flames flickering in its eye sockets.
Su Youwan stared at the scene in disbelief.
This was her first time in the Netherworld. Although she had read accounts of the Ghost Sect’s opening in ancient texts, what they described was nothing like the scene before her now.
Whether it was the Netherworld reappearing in the mortal realm or the Ghost Sect opening wide, it was supposed to be a sacred ritual where countless Spirits prayed devoutly, hoping for the Nether Monarch’s return.
But now that the Ghost Sect had opened, what was it that had returned?
A Golden Skull?
That Golden Skull sat high in its sedan chair, using Spirits as its bearers, its posture arrogant, like a king.
In the entire Netherworld, besides the Nether Monarch who had yet to return, how could there be a second person capable of commanding Spirits like this?
Su Youwan reacted in a flash. The instant the Golden Skull came into view, she formed a sword-finger, and countless needles as fine as gossamer shot from her sleeve like a waterfall woven from moonlight.
Sixteen Bright Moon Flower Needles!
At the same time, the air behind her began to slowly twist and coalesce into a blurry but immensely vast shadow.
The shadow was sacred and majestic. Looking closely, one could see it was a pure white Thousand-Handed Guanyin.
"Freeze!"
Su Youwan’s lips parted slightly.
The skeleton in the fog glanced at the maiden. Just one glance.
CLANG!
All of the needles were deflected back.
Su Youwan’s entire body shuddered as if struck by a heavy blow. An indescribably terrifying backlash surged back along the needles and slammed into her, throwing her straight back into the room. The Lotus Crown on her head was knocked off, and her moon-like silver hair tumbled down.
The Golden Skull didn’t look at Su Youwan again, seemingly having no intention of finishing her off.
The silver-haired maiden coughed up a mouthful of blood, staining the front of her robes. Specks of crimson landed on her snow-white skin, a heart-wrenching sight.
BOOM!!!
It was like a clap of thunder, heard throughout the entire Netherworld.
A massive rift was abruptly torn in the sky. Behind the void, something seemed to be bursting forth impatiently.
It was a river.
The Nether River!
The Ghost Sect opens, the Nether River appears.
As the saying goes: The vast Nether River flows from the heavens, its Spirits traversing Yin and Yang to shape reincarnation.
But now, someone was hiding in the Netherworld, disguised as a Spirit, and smiling more gleefully than even the dead.